Infinite High, Infinite Low

Chapter 1

It had been a month since I'd found out. No one else took much notice but for me it had been a non-stop reminder of what defined me. For everyone else they were told, I was given medication and then I was left be. My parents refused any other extra help, but what were they to understand? They're too caught up in their own lives to notice their 14 year old daughter pulling through life with the worlds problems on her shoulders.

It's 6am and I am laying in bed staring at the clock.
'Come on Rosalie'
I try to convince myself to pull myself out of bed. Yet no use.
Today was my first day of Year 10, at a new school. I sigh and rub my eyes trying to discard the look of the sleepless night I had experienced. Again.

Most likely for every other local teenager nearby the school, they'd still be sound asleep only to have to be rudely awaken by the eery sound of there alarms half an hour to and hour tops before school.

Whereas in my case. I was awake two hours and 45minutes before the late bell would even ring. I guess that's the main problem with having bipolar and anxiety. Or maybe it's just me.
'For fucks sake Rosalie'
I rant at myself aggressively clearly getting agitated for my refusal of stepping a toe onto the wooden floor of my room. 

I sigh again and eventually give up trying to convince myself that I can actually do anything anymore. I reach for my phone on my bedside table and pick it up.

The dim light of my lock screen lights up faintly and squint so I can try and type in my passcode so I can adjust the brightness. However my shaky hands disapprove of the handling of my phone and I'm forced to put it down before I drop it to its certain death.

I stare at the clock to see how much time had passed so I could scare myself out of bed but when I see the red numbers of 6:15am I smash my head into my pillow and groan miserably.

Why couldn't I be a normal human being and have a decent sleeping pattern? Why do I have to be the girl who has to keep herself preoccupied for  over 10 hours whilst everyone else have their 10 hours planned out for them?

I scream into my pillow and muffles of my screams are released into the open. I shut my eyes and feel the stress build up inside of me.

I have to start my GCSE's today. I have to start a new school today. I have to talk to people today. I have to fake a smile today. I am starting a new year group today.

I repeatedly hit my head against my pillow hoping that somehow their feathery insides can knock me into a coma.

After I'd let some aggression out of me I stare at the clock again and see the clock go from 6:22 to 6:23.

Great. Barely any time had changed and I expected to be here for much longer.

Fun.

So.

Much.

Fun.

I grit my teeth and cup my face in my hands. I bury my cupped face in my knees and groan again.

I give up.

There's no one who I can turn to anymore. My parents believe it's just a phase and 'I'll get over it' but they don't understand the pain of constantly moving and having the fear of fitting in again and again.

My anxiety makes me an easy target to the people who have so many abusive comments to express. It's so obvious that I'm going to extreme measures to prevent any attention being drawn to me.

I'll hold my breath so I don't cough.
I'll remain silent when being asked to read.
I'll show no reaction when reaction is necessary.

I'm trying to hide my problems but it makes them more noticeable. It makes me look a lot more socially awkward.

I'd experience panic attacks in class and everytime id tell my parents they'd attempt to convince me that it's "just my hormones" or in some cases laugh and tell me not to worry my little mind.

But no. My mind is not little. These illnesses NEVER shrink. To me they'll never become these minuscule events which I'll be able to laugh at one day. They are gigantic boulders I'm dragging along with me whilst I stumble through life.

I mean bipolar ever so occasionally has its upsides. I mean mania makes me so hyperactive that I refuse to sleep or I feel as if I don't need to eat as much. My parents aren't even fussed about that either. They shrug it off and leave me be.

They show no concern. I mean it's not like I get along brilliantly with them anyway but if there were the slightest bit empathetic they may realise that what I'm going through isn't easy and we could bond. But who am I kidding? Why would the bond with me? For the entire 14 years of my life there isn't one memory I can remember where it mad been all three of us together.

One night dads working then one night mums working and then the next they're both working and I then find it harder to restrain myself from causing harm to my already damaged body.

I open my eyes again after being plunged into a depressive reminder of what my life is and again stare at my clock. 6:35am.

I groan again until I finally give in and try to pull myself out of bed.

35 minutes itv took me. An entire 35 to do a simple 2 minute task.

I facepalm myself and walk into my ensuite bathroom.

I avoid all contact with my mirror. I still hadn't got the point of completely taking it down.

Seeing myself made me want to vomit. The depression side of my bipolar would completely disagree with the visual site of my frizzy black hair and dirty brown eyes.

My mind as well as people came up with abusive comments to spit at me and when seeing my reflection it would go into overload and thrown everything it had at my face.

I start the shower and wash the tired look away. The water burns my skin jut I ignore it. There's more pain in my head then what I could experience physically. A stab wound would hurt less then the empty feeling inside of me.

I feel so empty that I'd be desperate for any sort of emotion. Even if it had to be a negative one. I refused to care. I just wanted to feel something. Something other then this gaping black pit inside of me or the black cloud sitting comfortably over my head blocking out every positive feeling that could turn my life around.

I sigh again and feel the water drip down my face. But it's not the water from the shower. It's my salty tears.